Place of Purpose

Sr. Joan speaks of place of purpose.  Here are a few thoughts to consider as you meditate on her writings for September 1.

Vocational/Calling Dimension.  In the classical sense, a place of purpose is where one’s calling (or vocation) aligns with the needs of the world. Theologian Frederick Buechner put it as “the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep hunger.” Here, purpose is not just about what brings satisfaction, but how it serves or contributes to something larger than oneself.

Existential Dimension.  From an existential viewpoint, an individual’s place of purpose is the spot where meaning is chosen and affirmed. It is not assigned externally, but discovered and lived into through reflection, freedom, and responsibility. It may shift across life stages but is grounded in authenticity—living true to one’s deepest convictions.

 Communal Dimension.  Purpose is rarely solitary. A person’s place of purpose can be described as the intersection between personal identity and the community’s recognition of that identity. In this sense, one’s purpose “takes place” not in isolation, but in relationship—with family, friends, colleagues, or a faith community.

 Benedictine/Spiritual Dimension.  Drawing from Benedictine thought (which you’ve explored deeply), place of purpose resonates with stability of heart. It is not so much a geographic “where” as a spiritual rootedness: a way of being fully present, committed, and obedient (in the sense of listening with the ear of the heart) to God, to others, and to one’s rule of life. Purpose then becomes inseparable from fidelity to a rhythm of prayer, work, and community.

 Practical/Everyday Dimension.  On a simpler, day-to-day level, one’s place of purpose is where talents, values, and passions converge with real opportunities. It is where the question “What am I good at?” meets “What matters to me?” and “Where can I make a difference?” This might look like teaching, creating, serving, or even simply being a faithful presence in the lives of others.

Life is a way of walking through the universe whole and holy. 

Sr. Joan Chittister

 

 

Thought for the Day

The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting.  

It has been found difficult; and left untried. 

G. K. Chesterton

Every time you begin a good work....

Saint Benedict reminds us today that every time we begin a good work, we must pray to God most earnestly to bring it to perfection. 

Why would we not want His aid?

Pat's Rainbow

Listening with the Ear of the Heart: A Meditation

To "listen with the ear of the heart" is to go beyond hearing words and sounds — it is to be present in a way that honors the speaker’s full humanity, as well as our own. This phrase, drawn from the Rule of St. Benedict, speaks not only to how we engage with others but how we attend to life itself: slowly, reverently, attentively.

The ear of the heart doesn’t filter through logic or judgment. It receives. It opens. It waits. In contrast to the distracted or reactive mind, the posture of listening with the ear of the heart is one of stillness and receptivity. It listens not to respond, but to understand — not only to what is said, but what is felt, what is meant, and what is left unspoken.

Listening with the heart cannot be rushed. It requires space and the willingness to be changed by what we hear. It is a posture of compassion. When we listen with the heart, we are no longer preparing our rebuttal or shaping our reply; we are entering into a sacred exchange, one that asks us to enter quietly and with grace into another’s reality.

To listen with the ear of the heart is to listen inwardly. The heart listens to the gentle nudging of truth that the mind may ignore. In silence, in prayer, in moments of quiet clarity, the heart can hear what matters most — a call to act, a wound to tend, a joy to cherish. This listening is the doorway to wisdom. It may not come with great clarity at first; it may be a whisper. But it is always honest.

In a world so full of noise, listening with the ear of the heart asks us to slow down, to turn off the phone, to look into someone's eyes when they speak. It asks us to feel rather than analyze, to connect rather than control. It demands vulnerability. It offers healing.

Consider a world where we all practiced this kind of listening. How many conflicts would soften? How many misunderstandings would clear? How many hearts better understood?

Listening with the ear of the heart is an act of love — a deep, attentive, patient love that has the power to transform. It invites and is centered in the humility of the soul. It says, “I don’t know everything. But I am here. And I am listening.”

May we all strive to listen this way — to our friends, our enemies, ourselves, and the quiet voice of grace that speaks to us so often without words.

Let the noise fall away. Let the mind rest.

Listen — with the ear of your heart.

To become what we seek...

 Sr. Joan reminds us today of the importance of our reading and our prayers.  We are called to examine and reflect on every act, every thought, every step we take--every part of our lives.  In doing so we will come to realize that the God we seek is seeking us!

Our prayers will become a furnace ... to heat and purify our minds and our hearts, our ideas and our lives.  The prayers that pass our lips will change our lives and we will become what we say we are ... and God's presence will become palpable within us.

 

Prayer will burn off the dross that clings to our souls like mildew and set us free for deeper, richer, truer lives in which we become what we seek.

A Prayer for the Middle-East

 A Prayer for Peace in a Troubled Land

As offered by one who walks the earth with sand-worn feet, and lifts his eyes to the eternal heavens—
a philosopher of old, a child of the Creator,
bearing wisdom carved by time and fire.

---

O Eternal One,
Maker of the heavens, the stars, and the deep-rooted earth,
Father of Abraham, of Ishmael and Isaac,
of those who call Your name in Hebrew, in Arabic, in silence—

Stretch forth Your hand upon this land
where brother turns against brother,
and the children of promise bleed into the soil of inheritance.

O Lord of Time, who sees the end from the beginning,
teach us again the wisdom of peace.
Let not the cries of the innocent rise to You unanswered.
Let not vengeance pass from father to son
like the shadow of a great mountain that never lifts.

You who breathe life into dust,
breathe gentleness into hearts hardened by generations of sorrow.
Break the bow, shatter the spear,
undo the clever machinery of war.

O God who numbers the hairs of each head,
let no life be counted lightly.
Pour the oil of healing upon Iran and Israel,
these children of Your covenant,
that they may yet sit beneath their own vines and fig trees,
and none shall make them afraid.

Make prophets of their poets,
make builders of their young,
and may Your justice—firm and radiant—walk hand in hand with mercy.

We ask not for triumph of one over the other,
but for the triumph of love over hatred,
of hope over despair,
of Your peace over our pride.

Amen.

Caprice

St. Benedict encouraged us today to curb our own caprice.  We are reminded that...

The phrase “curb our own caprice” calls us to recognize and restrain the impulsive, self-serving tendencies within ourselves—especially those rooted in fleeting desires, whims, or moods. Let’s unpack it more deeply:

1. Caprice: What It Is

The word caprice refers to sudden, unpredictable changes in mood or behavior—an inclination to act on impulse rather than principle or reason. It’s when we:

• make decisions based on fleeting emotions rather than long-term wisdom,

• pursue gratification even when it’s harmful or misaligned with our values,

• or change course erratically, driven by ego or boredom rather than clarity.

Examples of caprice might include:

• abandoning a responsibility for the sake of convenience,

• undermining a relationship because of pride or anger,

• or pursuing novelty over the steady disciplines of love, faith, or service.

2. Curb: The Intentional Restraint

To curb something is not to destroy it but to contain, channel, or discipline it. Curbing our own caprice means:

• pausing before acting, especially when emotions are high,

• weighing consequences with maturity rather than indulging desires,

• and choosing the harder right over the easier wrong.

It’s an act of interior strength—like bridling a spirited horse, not to break it, but to make it purposeful.

3. Spiritual and Moral Dimensions

In religious or moral traditions, curbing caprice often speaks to the path of wisdom, humility, and self-mastery. For instance:

• In Stoicism, it’s the practice of aligning with reason over emotion.

• In Christian spirituality, it’s an act of surrendering the ego to God’s will, putting love above self-gratification.

• In monastic tradition, it’s the daily discipline of stability and obedience, even when the heart is restless or discontent.

4. Why It Matters

Curbing our own caprice matters because:

• Freedom without form becomes chaos—we may think we’re acting freely, but we’re often enslaved to impulse.

• Character is forged not by how we act when it’s easy, but how we choose when it’s hard.

• Communities thrive when individuals choose commitment over caprice, fidelity over fickleness.

Amen and Amen

We are called....

Today, Sister Joan reminds us that we are called to lead, "...we are to birth souls of steel and light...".  We talked recently about random act of kindness, today Sister Joan reminds us that we are to 

...love indiscriminately...to call the the community to the height and depth

and breadth of the spiritual life; to rejoin in our own weaknesses in order

to deal more tenderly with the weaknesses of others; to attend more to the

spiritual than the physical aspects of community life; and to save our own

souls in the process....

 

O God of Unmeasured Mercy, teach us to love without condition or caution—

to open our arms wide, as Christ opened His on the cross, embracing others 

not for what they are or are not, but simply because they are Yours. 

Remind us that silence nourishes, humility strengthens, and the unseen work

of grace shapes the soul more than any labor of the hand.

Let us rejoice in our weaknesses, where Your strength is made perfect.  Teach 

us to cradle the flaws of others tenderly, as we have learned to cradle our own.

Draw our hearts beyond shared meals to the deeper communion of spirit;

prayers said for one another in secret; forgiveness offered before it is asked;

and compassion rising from an understanding heart.

And in all things, may we remember that to love well is to follow You.

Amen.

Once Again

O Eternal One, Light Beyond All Lamps,

The Breath Behind All Prayers

You have spoken across the sands of time 

to Abraham beneath the stars,

to Moses through the fire,

to Mary on angel's wing,

to Muhammad in the hush of a cave. 

 

From the sea of creation flowed the Torah, Gospel, and Qur'an.

Though each stream carved its own bed through time,

all are filled with longing for You, the One from which we all came.

 

Draw us now, O Holy Mystery,

not into sameness but into shared reverence.

Let the Jew embrace the Muslim,

the Christian bless the Sufi,

the doubter walk beside the faithful.

 

Tear down the walls we have built in fear.

Scatter our pride like chaff in the wind.

Teach us that we might see and say:

"I see the Light in you, though you walk a different road."

 

Like the moon’s reflection in many cups,

we each hold only part of Your glory.

Let Your Spirit within us—even now 

crying, longing for the creator—help us understand, remember, 

and imagine that life of perfect unity at the moment of creation.

 

Bring us home, O Lord of Light,

to the shore where no name is needed,

and no lamp is required—

for You will be the sea, the sky, the dawn.

And we, will be One again with you.

 

Amen 

 

A Prayer for Transformation

Inspired by Sister Joan's story of the Hasidim and the disciple...

        A Prayer for Transformation

        O Holy One,
        You who breathed the world into being and whispered wisdom onto the scrolls of old,
        I have walked the paths of your Word,
        I have traced the letters, studied the laws, read the stories with my eyes and lips—
        But now, with trembling heart, I ask:
        Let these sacred words walk through me.

        Let them not remain bound in parchment or memory,
        but arise, living and active, in my bones and breath.
        Let them enter where no scholar’s hand can reach—
        into my intentions, my silences, my shadowed places.

        Unfold within me the compassion of Abraham,
        the courage of Moses,
        the holy yearning of the psalmist.
        Let justice roll through me like a river,
        and justice and mercy dwell within my soul.

        Break open my pride,

        humble me,
        dissolve my illusion of mastery,
        and write your truth upon the tablets of my heart.

        I do not ask for knowledge without love,
        nor wisdom without transformation.
        I long to be read by your Word,
        to be written anew by your Spirit,
        to become, not just a student of your word—
        but its living echo in your world.

        Amen.